Accidents
by drama-princess
Summary: Dumbledore demands that Snape find some way of apologizing to Sinistra for lighting her hair on fire. Can we say recipe for disaster?


A/N: I'd been wanting to a Snape/Sinistra vignette for a long time now, and got my inspiration when rereading Lamentations of a Starry-Eyed Twit by the ever-brilliant She's A Star (if you haven't read, go! It's in my favorites! But read this first) Auriga mentions that Snape caught her hair on fire and then claimed it was an accident. How, exactly, did that happen?   
  
J.K. Rowling owns it. I don't. I should think that would be quite clear, but you never can tell.  
  


~-~  
**Accidents  
**by drama-princess  
~-~  
  


  
Severus Snape could think of a lot of fateful last words.  
  
I'll just hand in my resignation to the Dark Lord, then, for one.  
  
Who wants to see me take Moody's magical eye out?  
  
and, most famously:   
  
Our iridescent passion has shone through the fiery crimson tongues of the raw, bleeding husks, and we shall live in the glorious cerulean lakes of passion, my oily-haired, obsidian-eyed lover!  
  
Shudder.  
  
But nothing-- _nothing _compared to what Albus was asking of him.  
  
Severus, I expect you to find some way to make this up to Professor Sinistra.   
  
This was ridiculous, Snape thought, storming down the corridor with flourish and sending two third years one of his very best sneers. Apologize . . to _Sinistra? _That starry-eyed twit would probably forget the whole incident within a week. Severus Snape would_ not_ apologize to a frizzy-haired wench of a Astronomy professor.   
  
It wasn't like he'd meant to light her hair on fire, anyway. It had been. . . an accident. Yes. It had merely been a coincidence that she'd stepped in front of his wand while he had been muttering Incendio. He certainly hadn't meant to burn up that horribly bushy auburn hair because it had invaded his coffee mug.  
  
Er. All right. Perhaps he had been.   
  
But honestly, the twit had no respect for the feelings of others. Why else would the idiotic woman make sardonic remarks about his ever-faithful vigil for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position? The woman had no compassion.   
  
So, he'd deliberately let her hair burst into flames. Was that such a crime?  
  
She'd deserved it.   
  
~-~  
  
Auriga Sinistra was fully aware that wandering around with half her hair still missing was not, perhaps, the best way to convince others of her mental health.  
  
Nor, perhaps, was marching into the library and backing Madam Pince into a stack of Quidditch manuals while demanding: Where are your curse books? I need curses! Jinxes! BAD hexes! and cackling madly.  
  
But Merlin, had it been satisfying to see Snape cringe as she'd beckoned him towards a volume with the words Castration Charms and You: Satisfying Your Anger Towards Boyfriends, Bosses, and Co-Works emblazoned across the red velvet cover.  
  
Even if Flitwick had suggested rather timidly that perhaps it was time to see Dumbledore about her so-called anger management problem.  
  
Ha. Anger management problem? HA!  
  
If she had an anger management problem, then Snape had issues revolving around unresolved childhood conflict. . .   
  
Well, imagine that. She did have an anger management problem.  
  
But he'd deserved it.  
  
~-~  
  
All right. Perhaps he had gone a little too far. But it wasn't as if he'd turned her hair _pink! _After all, he had no interest in seeing Sinistra with permanent psychological scars that would eventually drive her to serve the Dark Lord!  
  
Er.  
  
Right.  
  
But still, worse things could have happened.  
  
And she had no right to threaten him with a jinx that could permanently impair his ability to reproduce. That was sexual harassment on par with when Hooch's nerve-numbing back slaps that went too low. And _that _was eclipsed only by Trewlawney's attempts to flutter her bug-like eyes. . . and numerous attempts of a certain damnable Destiny du Maurier to seduce him. Him. Severus Snape. Shudder.  
  
Although, all things considered, Auriga Sinistra was definitely the most attractive woman that had propositioned him.   
  
Except that she hadn't.  
  
Propositioned him, he meant.  
  
In fact, she'd done quite the opposite.  
  
. . . if he hadn't been the Potions Master of this school, he would strongly suggest that he'd been poisoned. As it was, he was starting to consider the possibility of his own temporary insanity.  
  
There had been that time those thrice-damned Weasley twins had spiked the punch at the staff social. . . .  
  
Oh, God.  
  
He didn't want to think about Auriga Sinistra propositioning him.  
  
Really, he didn't.  
  
. . . this was going to be a long day.  
  
~-~  
  
Auriga Sinistra could actually remember a time when she'd felt sorry for Snape. Like that time Flitwick had dipped a little too deeply into the brandy and told her exactly what had happened to Snape's mother. Or the time she'd spotted him unconsciously rubbing his left forearm. Or even when she'd first come to Hogwarts at the age of twenty-seven and spotted him skulking about the Great Hall, with an odd, almost lonely look in his black eyes.  
  
However.  
  
Those times were past. Long gone. Dead!  
  
Severus Snape was a full-fledged bastard straight out of hell.   
  
Auriga straightened her robes as she swept (in her scarily accurate impression of Snape in top form) around the corner and into the staff room. It was empty save for Victoria Vector, who was busy curling her eyelashes and the ends of her hair with her wand. Auriga sank into a squashy armchair near the fireplace and scowled darkly. Why did Victoria get to keep her hair? It just wasn't fair. Victoria would be gorgeous even without that tousled blonde hair. Auriga was lucky if she could pass for human.   
  
Although she did take great comfort in the fact that most people agreed she was prettier than Hagrid.  
  
Hullo, Auriga, Victoria said, oblivious to the fact that if looks could kill, the Arithmancy professor would, in fact, be more or less dead.   
  
Auriga mumbled, dropping her scathing glare from Victoria to her own grubby nails. She folded her arms and pushed her foot off of the coffee table. Victoria was now humming the new Witches Three single. Auriga wiggled a little lower into the armchair. Why are you so cheerful? she asked impatiently.   
  
Victoria waved a hand airily towards her, displaying the sparkling 2 carat diamond that resided on the ring finger. Paul asked me on a mini-break to Paris this weekend. Won't it be lovely? He's going to take me shopping. Chanel just released their new wizarding line.   
  
Auriga forced a smile. Sounds. . . lovely, she said, conscious of the danger her jaw was in if she continued to clench it like that. Honestly. The one time she'd had a boyfriend, the complete prat had considered it a gift if he chipped in on the cheque.   
  
I think so, Victoria said, evidently satisfied with her hair. She stood up. I'll bring you a present. Oh, cheer up, Aur, she said in response to Auriga's slightly mournful look. Your hair will have grown back by then. And if it doesn't-- well, berets are quite popular in France.  
  
Snarling, Auriga pointed at the door. she ordered.   
  
~-~  
  
It was an accident.  
  
Auriga didn't bother to look up.  
  
Dumbledore threaten to sack you if you didn't make some attempt at apologizing?  
  
Don't be ridiculous, Snape ground out, forcing himself to take a seat across from the irritating woman. He'd had to search at least three rooms before finding Sinistra holed up in an empty classroom, flipping sadly through some Muggle magazine and holding up handfuls of slowly regrowing hair before a handheld mirror.  
  
Auriga said nothing, but turned the page to reveal some atrocious Muggle woman with flowing red waves.   
  
Snape snapped, slapping his hand down on the small table. Yes, he did. Happy now?  
  
Auriga rolled her eyes and turned the page again. she said. Why don't you try being halfway civil instead? You'll find it can work wonders! she added in a tone that sounded eerily like the welcoming witch at the Ministry of Magic.  
  
It. Was. An. Accident, Snape gritted his teeth as he spoke. This was utterly ridiculous. Would you care for a cup of tea? he asked, his voice veritably dripping with sarcasm. Surely even the twit couldn't fail to miss the intent of that particular phrase, which was simply- _why don't you go grace the lake with your presence, you pathetic creature?_  
  
Got any humble pie? Sinistra inquired sardonically, either missing the hint or choosing to ignore it. She dropped the magazine to her lap and stared levelly at Snape. He dropped his gaze to her hands. Her nails were chipped.   
  
he snapped defensively, folding his arms impressively across his chest and glaring at her.   
  
Sinistra sighed. I didn't think so. Can you conjure up some lemon biscuits instead?   
  
I suppose.   
  
He waved his wand and sat down across from her as the silver tray clattered down to the table.   
  
It _was _an accident, he said as he poured two cups of tea.   
  
You just keep telling yourself that, Severus.   
  
  
  



End file.
